


Too Much is Never Enough

by Randomosities



Category: Professional Wrestling, World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Accidental wetting, Ambrolleigns - Freeform, Deliberate Wetting, Desperation, Dom Roman, Dom Seth, Dom/sub, Filth, Forced Wetting, Humiliation, M/M, Prompt Fill, Sub Dean, Watersports, Wetting, sin and filth, some hairpulling kink, some praise kink, some puppy play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-08
Updated: 2017-02-08
Packaged: 2018-09-23 01:17:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9633974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Randomosities/pseuds/Randomosities
Summary: Dean drinks too much water before his match at Battleground and doesn't get a chance to go to the bathroom beforehand.When that doesn't end well, it's up to Roman and Seth to teach him a lesson.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Neffectual](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Neffectual/gifts).



> Partially a prompt fill for this prompt on the kink meme:  
> "Dean wets himself during their title match at Battleground. It’s one the most shameful and embarrassing things possible and even a dirty, gives-no-fucks-guy like Dean is more than a little shamed because everyone can tell what happened, from the crowd to his opponents/lovers/doms, but no one acknowledges it despite the obvious wet spots and Dean’s red face.  
> I’m not opposed to just the lead up and Dean wetting himself, but I’d totally also be into Roman and Seth punishing Dean/teaching him restraint."  
> Also partially a gift for Neff because without Neff I would've judged myself too much to post this.

Dean knew he shouldn’t have drunk all that water before the match.

It was just that for whatever reason, he was goddamn thirsty, and catering had lots and lots and _lots_ of water, too much water, and before he knew it he’d drank two and a half bottles in ten minutes.

And it hadn’t really hit him yet, but he was gonna head off to the bathroom and go piss anyway, but then he was told he needed to be in gorilla _immediately,_ and it wasn’t like he could argue just ‘cause he was the champ. He had a title to defend, and the fact that his opponents were two of the few people he actually gave a damn about didn’t change anything.

He was still gonna kick ass, no matter what.

So he dumped what was left of the last water bottle over his head and made his way to gorilla.

He just hadn’t expected things to go the way they did.

* * *

He comes out with the belt around his waist and mistakes the pressure he feels for the weight of the belt on him.

He doesn’t realize it’s a mistake, of course, until about five minutes into the match, when Roman’s got him backed into the corner and Dean gets a shoulder to the gut and the pressure increases, and then Roman does it again and Dean realizes _he really fuckin’ needs to piss._

And then Seth gets Roman off of him and punches Dean in the gut, and in the midst of the aches and pains Dean’s getting from the match itself, his need increases.

It might possibly be one of the worst things to ever happen to him, because here he is, defending the WWE Championship, the most prestigious championship in the goddamn company, against two former multiple-time champions, and he knows this is gonna be a fuckin’ long match and he needs to piss.

He knocks Seth out onto the apron and Roman hits him with _Drive By_ and then throws Seth into the barricade between themselves and the audience, and for lack of anything better to do Dean flings himself over the top rope and onto Roman and Seth, and when he hits the ground the urge becomes nearly painful and he feels a spurt leak out.

_Fuck._

And it’s not like he can grab himself to try to hold anything back, because he’s being watched by millions of people right this very second, and he has to pretend like he doesn’t need to piss.

He just hopes the leak didn’t soak through to his jeans. He knows that if it gets that far, then everyone watching will know it’s not just sweat; they’ll know that Dean Ambrose, the WWE Champion, couldn’t control his own fucking bladder.

When he stumbles to his feet, Seth grabs him by the back of the neck and sends him crashing into the steel steps, and as Dean collapses to the ground another spurt of piss forces its way out of him.

He knows he’s fucked at this point, but acknowledging that fact isn’t an option. So he stumbles to his feet and rolls into the ring, hoping for a reprieve, but then Seth hits him with a splash at just the right angle as to hit his bladder hardest, and after Seth’s unsuccessful pinning attempt Dean swears under his breath and rolls away.

He’d leaked longer, had felt it soak through to create a small wet spot on the front of his jeans. Maybe it’s not that noticeable, but Dean knows Seth saw it, from the almost curious look Seth had given him after he’d kicked out of the attempted pin, knows from the way Seth’s eyes had flicked to his crotch and then back to his face.

Fuck, but it’s humiliating, knowing he’s on the verge of pissing himself on national television, in front of all of these goddamn people. He can feel heat reddening his face, and it’s not just from the physical exertion required of wrestling.

Not just in front of millions of people he doesn’t know, but in front of Roman and Seth, too. The two most important people in the world to him.

And he can’t even control his own fucking body.

He crawls into the corner of the ring and gets some respite, watching as Seth and Roman go after each other, seemingly oblivious to him. He grits his teeth and tries to ignore the heavy pressure in his abdomen, but despite his hardest attempts to hold it back he leaks a little more and _he’s not even doing anything._

In the midst of his worrying, Seth and Roman end up outside the ring, by the announcer’s table, and Seth is gesturing wildly at him and it takes more than a few seconds for Dean to realize what he wants.

He obliges Seth, helping to powerbomb Roman through the announcer’s table, but the effort of getting Roman up on Seth’s shoulders takes more out of him than he expects. He crashes to the ground and swears again when he feels a stream of piss soak through his underwear, creating a larger wet spot on his jeans. He clenches his muscles and manages to stop the flow, but the damage has been done, the fabric along the seam of his jeans a darker color, and it has to be really fucking obvious by now that Dean’s on the verge of pissing himself.

He staggers to his feet, one arm around his abdomen as if he’s hurt, and then someone hits him in the back with a steel chair and he collapses to the ground and the shock forces him to let go.

He pisses himself, short spurts turning into a steady stream that soaks through the fabric of his jeans almost instantly, some of it being absorbed by the fabric, some of it dripping into his shoes, some of it puddling on the floor around him. He nearly moans with the relief, the warmth of his piss soaking through his underwear feeling akin to an orgasm.

But it’s over too soon, the last trickles shining wetly on the oversaturated fabric of his jeans, already cooling and feeling uncomfortably soggy.

He realizes he just pissed himself in front of what might as well be the whole fucking world.

It doesn’t help that Seth chooses that very moment to force Dean back into the ring and set him up for a powerbomb.

Dean’s flushed red with humiliation as he forces his way out of Seth’s grip, imagining what Seth might think, ‘cause there’s no way after that that he can’t tell Dean pissed himself.

Roman comes back into the ring and Dean gets a minute to himself as Seth immediately targets Roman, but then Roman’s going after Dean, setting him up for a powerbomb of his own, and _fuck_ now Roman knows, too, and Dean’s less worried about the pain of being slammed into the canvas as he is about what Roman thinks.

In the end, Dean picks up the victory at the very last second, rolling out of the ring after Roman’s powerbomb and letting Seth and Roman fight for the championship until they’re exhausted enough that Dean can hit Roman with _Dirty Deeds_ and pin him for the win.

But even though he gets the win, everything feels wrong.

* * *

He takes a long, thorough shower afterwards, leaving his soaked jeans on the floor of his locker room. He dries himself off when he steps out, puts on clean clothes (cleaner than his jeans, at least), and walks back into his locker room only to find Roman and Seth waiting for him.

Dean feels heat rise in his cheeks again, recalling the humiliation he’d felt during the match, when Roman and Seth _had_ to know that he’d pissed himself.

“Hey,” he says, a little uneasily, mildly uncomfortable under the weight of their gazes, the way they’re staring at him with eyes dark, but a part of him is eagerly anticipating their desires, because he knows they wouldn’t really hurt him, not after something like this.

“We want to see you tonight,” Roman says, and Dean swallows and nods.

Seth steps up to him, reaches up to his head and tangles a little bit of Dean’s hair in his fist, pulling just enough to make Dean whine, the way they know he likes it.

“Make sure you’re ready for us,” Seth says, a smirk on his face.

When they leave, Dean’s already half-hard.

* * *

Dean spends half an hour in his hotel room, fingering himself open with copious amounts of lube until he’s just about teetering on the edge, before he seeks out Roman and Seth.

He finds them in Roman’s hotel room, waiting for him.

But instead of immediately fucking him or using him or doing _something_ with him, like he’s expecting, they just hand him a bottle of water and tell him to drink.

He’s suspicious and a little confused, but he knows better than to disobey, and so he twists off the lid and downs half the bottle.

“Good boy,” Roman says, and Dean flushes with warmth. “Color?”

“Green… but, uh, what are we doin’?”

“We’re punishing you,” Seth says. “Because you can’t control yourself, and you need to learn how.”

It takes Dean several moments to realize what they’re referring to, and when he remembers he flushes again for an entirely different reason. He slowly nods, not trusting himself to speak.

“Still good?” Roman asks, voice more gentle than usual. Dean knows they wouldn’t push him too far in something like this, and he remembers with a shiver how good it felt to just let go.

He nods again.

“Then drink up,” Seth says, and the smile on his face when Dean obediently finishes the bottle they’ve given him is dark and pleased.

* * *

Two more bottles and half an hour later, he’s starting to really need to piss, his bladder still sensitive from what happened earlier in the day. But he’s got too much pride to ask to go yet, so he settles for pacing, since it distracts his mind from his urge to piss and gives him something to do with his excess energy.

“Dean, settle down,” Roman says, the reprimand clear in his tone, and Dean freezes. “Come here.”

Roman’s sitting on the edge of the only bed in the room, whereas Seth’s stretched out in the armchair, watching them with obvious interest on his face. Dean moves so he’s standing in front of Roman, waiting for his next command.

“Kneel,” Roman says, and Dean obediently drops to his knees, wincing only slightly at the increase in pressure that the movement causes. He tries to hide his discomfort by pressing his face against Roman’s leg, and he’s rewarded with Roman’s hand combing through his hair. “You need to go yet?”

“No,” he lies.

“You sure?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Then have some more to drink,” Roman says, obtaining another water bottle from seemingly out of nowhere and offering it to Dean.

Dean twists off the lid, presses his legs together, and gulps it down.

* * *

Twenty minutes later, Dean starts leaking.

He’s still sitting at Roman’s feet, focusing on Roman’s touch instead of his need to piss, but then his mind wanders, and a spurt of piss forces its way out of him and dampens his underwear.

He whines, more out of surprise than anything else, and across the room he hears Seth laugh, a sharp rasp of a sound.

“ _Now_ he needs to go,” Seth says. Dean reddens and continues to try to hide his face in Roman’s leg.

“Havin’ trouble holding it, baby boy?” Roman asks, and Dean fervently shakes his head no, because he only leaked a little bit, he’s a good boy, he can hold it. “Then you gotta keep holdin’ it, and you don’t get to go ‘til we say so. That clear, Dean?”

Dean nods.

“Good boy,” Roman says approvingly. “You’re doing so good, controlling yourself for us.”

“Can I have some time with him for a second?” Seth asks. Roman apparently agrees, because he’s being nudged to his feet, and Seth is beckoning him over.

“Come with me,” Seth says, cocking his head in the direction of the bathroom, and Dean is somehow so deep into his headspace that he doesn’t even mind following Seth like a puppy.

Dean wrongly assumes when they get into the bathroom that Seth is going to let him piss, and he reaches for the fly of his jeans, but Seth is stopping him, a hand clamped over his wrist.

“What do you think you’re doing, Dean?”

He’s at a loss for words, so he just shrugs.

“Did I say I’d let you piss?”

He swears another trickle of piss leaks out of him at the word.

“Answer me.”

“No,” he mumbles, cheeks burning hot with something akin to shame. But even though he needs to piss, he can feel his cock twitch with interest, like he’s getting off on being humiliated.

Wouldn’t be the first time.

“You can piss when we say you can piss, and not a second earlier. Do you understand me?”

“Yes, sir,” he utters, almost instinctively. Seth smiles, slow and pleased.

Seth’s hands move towards his own fly, and Dean immediately drops to his knees, thinking he knows what Seth wants, but he’s wrong.

“Stand up,” Seth says, and Dean’s confused, but he does what’s asked of him. “I want you to watch. Just watch. Don’t do anything else.”

So he watches. He watches as Seth opens his jeans and pulls his cock out of his underwear. He watches as Seth moves to stand in front of the toilet. And he watches as Seth pisses into the toilet, moaning loudly as if he’s coming, when Dean knows it’s just an exaggeration meant to be torture for him.

And it works. It takes every muscle in Dean’s body, he thinks, to prevent himself from losing control right then and there, but enough piss streams out of him to leave him with a baseball-sized wet spot on the front of his jeans, and he’s trembling with the exertion of holding everything in.

“Now that’s just cruel, Seth,” Dean hears from behind him, realizing that Roman’s standing in the doorway, watching the two of them. He doesn’t sound angry, though, merely amused, and for a brief second Dean’s angry, but even with the burning pressure of needing to piss, he’s half-hard and his nerves are confused as to whether he’s feeling tingles of pleasure or tingles of ‘fuck I need to piss’.

“Yeah, but he’s learning,” Seth says, shaking himself off and tucking his cock back into his underwear. “See, he didn’t even let go yet. Good boy, Dean.”

Dean’s flushing with warmth again and his body is so fucking confused.

* * *

Half an hour later, Dean’s definitely on the verge of losing it, on the verge of pissing himself for the second time that day. His pride has gone out the window, and he’s fucking _begging_ for permission to piss, mumbling nonsense to himself in between his begging as if it’ll keep him from pissing himself. He’s leaking almost constantly now, dribbles and spurts of piss soaking into his underwear and jeans no matter how much he holds himself or clenches up, his jeans shiny with wetness along the seam and his upper thighs, damp all the way down to the knees.

Seth and Roman have just been teasing him by now, telling him they’ll let him go if he can hold it just a little bit longer, but Dean’s nearly at the point of no return.

Somehow, he manages to make that clear to them, and they strip him naked and lead him into the shower. Roman stands behind him in the shower, fully clothed, while Seth hovers just outside of the shower, practically leering at Dean.

“You can let go now, Dean,” Roman murmurs, voice low and rough in his ear. “’S okay. We got you. Let go for us.”

He’s past the point of caring about how fucking humiliated he is now, and even though he’s been leaking nearly non-stop, when he tries to piss, he can’t.

He tries even harder, but nothing more than a dribble comes out.

“I can’t,” he mumbles, frustration rising to the surface.

“You can’t?”

“I want to,” he insists. “I just can’t.”

“Maybe you need my help then,” Roman suggests, and before Dean can question or protest, Roman’s got an arm around him, with his hand flat over Dean’s bladder, and Roman’s lips are on his neck.

And then Roman presses down on his bladder, and Dean fucking sobs in relief as a torrent of piss gushes out of him, wetting his thighs and pooling under his feet and it feels so fucking good to let go that he couldn’t stop even if Roman or Seth asked him to. He’s vaguely aware of Roman murmuring praise in his ear, Roman’s hand still pressing down on his bladder even as he lets go.

It feels like forever before he’s finished, until the torrent becomes a slow, steady stream, until the stream dies down to a trickle and then only a few more drops, and Dean just about collapses against Roman, boneless and exhausted and feeling like he’d just come.

He only realizes he’d shut his eyes when he snaps them back open at the feeling of something warm and wet around his dick, only to find Seth on his knees in front of him, devoid of pants and swallowing him down until he actually does come, and by then Roman’s the only thing holding him up.

There’s not quite enough room for them in the shower, but somehow they make it work, and Dean lets Seth rut against him until he comes on Dean’s thigh, feeling vaguely like he belongs like this, with Seth’s cum on his skin.

And even then, he knows the night’s not over yet.


End file.
